


landing on both broken hearted knees

by rayguntomyhead



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 12:41:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15461604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayguntomyhead/pseuds/rayguntomyhead
Summary: “So this is awkward…”The fluttering fray of scotch tape on the corner of Wade’s sleeve has one long thread that just begs to be wound around his finger so he obliges. Round and round and round and un-round and round and– wait, he was in the middle of saying something. “…But I see by that cheap white piece of plastic you’re fingering meaningfully that you might have acquired a hotel room?”Or Wade and Cable share a hotel, that first night after it's all over





	landing on both broken hearted knees

“So this is awkward…”

The fluttering fray of scotch tape on the corner of Wade’s sleeve has one long thread that just begs to be wound around his finger so he obliges. Round and round and round and un-round and round and– wait, he was in the middle of saying something. “…But I see by that cheap white piece of plastic you’re fingering meaningfully that you might have acquired a hotel room?” 

It’s just the two of them, now. X-People, Russell and Co. gone back to Chateau du Virgin, Dopinder off to rake in the Saturday night taxi-ing drunk people cash. Cable makes his way determinedly down the sidewalk, radiating dark brooding with all the appropriate angst of an anti-hero with a recent crisis of conscious. And fuck him sideways and call him the Punisher, if T-1000 can’t pull it off like a motherfucker. 

“And,” Wade says, “since your bestest buddy Deadpool might have somehow accidentally totally not on purpose gone a little Son of Sam…” he trails off with a meaningful waggle of his eyebrows. Or what used to be his eyebrows. 

Except. On second thought. The gesture might just have lost something without any actual eyebrows to waggle. Cable looks thoroughly unimpressed. He’s also yet to vocalize anything except exasperated growls which _hotdamn_ , it’s not that Wade exactly _minds_ that.

He’s outpacing Wade, keeps striding down the street towards something and yes right he’s _looking for a place to stay, want to dance and drift away_ or at least a shower. Take out enchiladas washed down with a bottle or three of tequila. Some cocaine. Whatever. 

Wade’s not picky as long as it stops him from thinking on _it’s not your time, so kiss me like you miss me_ fuck, fuck, god _ddamit_ okay so he better speed up, how does his adorable pocket sized version of Cable walk so freaking fast, he’s like one of those super determined heavily armored little sand lizards.

“What d’ya say? My buddy, my pal, _mi amigo_ ,” Wade speed-sidles closer, bats his eyelashes. “C’mon, don’t tell me I need to use my feminine wiles on you? ‘Cause I gotta say, I don’t have the legs to pull off a good Catherine Tramell.”

“Not your pal,” Cable’s voice sounds like he’s been chain-smoking cigars between shotgunning rotgut and it’s _does_ things to Wade, okay. Maybe he can be convinced to shotgun more fun things and if that just happens to lead to making out, well who could really blame them, ammiright. 

Although wait, hurtful much? Wade clutches both hands to his chest, staggers sideways until he collides with Cable’s tin-plated Anakin Skywalker arm and wouldn’t Cable make a dopeass Sith. Angsty backstory, brooding good looks, enough ridiculous weaponry to hint at overcompensation…

“You wound me,” Wade sighs into the flex of Cable’s deltoid. “We’re totally pals, what else would our epic fight end-scenes together be for if not to show our budding camaraderie?”

Cable shoves Wade’s head half-heartedly away, and doesn’t stop walking. It sends all the tiny dwarves hammering away again in Wade’s skull, and clearly they need to take more breaks because that blessed lull wasn’t nearly long enough. 

“S what unions are for, suckers,” he mumbles under his breath, and nearly trips over his own boots as Cable abruptly comes to a stop in front a hotel that could have front-paged for _Serial Killers Weekly._ The kind you only brought someone to to fuck them or murder them, ‘cause you knew the staff wouldn’t really care which. 

“Wow,” Wade cranes his neck back, just to really take in the whole atmosphere – flickering neon lights, scattered bottles, tacky lettering and all. “Really sprung for the real Ritz experience, huh.” 

Cable grunts. “You coming up or not?” 

Annnnnd, jackpot! Wade celebrates with a congratulatory fist pump. This is exactly like the beginning of a sleazy porno, a bottle of alcohol or five and he could be down for that.

“See you really do like me,” he coos, trips happily after Mister Totally-A-Cyborg-Porn-Daddy. 

  

Cable commandeers the desk for his fifty billion weapons and pouches and didn’t anyone ever teach him that sharing is caring? Clearly not, but fine, whatever, _Wade’s_ not anal-retentive about his weapons touching so his all goes in a nice sprawling corner pile. 

And Cable’s taking his sweet ass time laying everything out, which means that Wade absolutely gets to call dibs on the bed. Hey, it’s free real estate, and besides will Cable really appreciate the full bouncy potential of this mattress? Wade thinks not. 

Three enthusiastic bounces later, something small and sharp bounces off Wade’s cheekbone and, “Hey,” Wade cranes his head over his shoulder, to meet the full force of Cable’s narrow-eyed glower. “What in the ass?”

“Bed’s mine, dipshit,” Cable grunts, and then turns back to where he’s disassembling his actually pretty sweet Sig, maybe if Wade asks nicely he can– wait, wait, priorities because, “Um, actually, I call dibs, finders keepers, losers weepers,” Wade pats the bed lovingly, adds in his best Yul Brenner, “etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.”

Cable blinks, forehead creasing, and somehow he doesn’t look at all surprised that Wade didn’t just roll over and cede his space.

“My room, my bed,” Cable sets the Sig down, turns to face Wade full on and folds his arms and well isn’t that just dandy. Wade’s pulse skitters and skips, a half-hearted pulse of the good _get ready_ chemicals trickling into his bloodstream. 

“Gonna show me who’s the boss, tiger?” Wade coos, cups his cheeks and bounces the skinny mattress until it squeaks.

“Jesus, what,’” Cable’s voice just gets more growly the more he’s pissed off, just deep enough it makes Wade’s nape go all warningly tingly. “You ever lay off it, you chattering dildo?“

Aw, more nicknames! Gotta love a straight man that can throw a jab when you’re not expecting one, don’tcha.

“No taksie backsies, you brought me back here,” Wade’s mouth pulls up in manic caricature of a grin, “Here being this charming abode that absolutely doesn’t smell of mothballs that you apparently decided was the best place to hunker down, Justin McLeod style.”

Cable’s fists clench until the skin on his flesh hand goes white and he stomps forward until he can lean in close enough Wade can smell the beer on his breath and snarl, “I’m only here ‘cause of _you,_ fuckface.” 

And okay wait except, “I never asked you to save me,” Wade hisses, jabs a finger hard into Cable’s chest and _fuck_ that asshole, if it wasn’t for him Wade would have his arms wrapped around Vanessa _right the fuck now_ instead of counting down the minutes until he could blow his brains out again just for a few seconds of seeing her across the divide. “I never _fucking asked you._ ”

And Cable _growls,_ guttural and feral and aching, snaps his tin-man hand around the hand poking his chest and squeezes hard. It grinds the bones of him together, pain twisting hot until Wade flinches because fuck if Cable’s hand isn’t strong enough to break something if he crushes Wade a little harder. 

Not that it matters really, it’ll only take a second for the bones to knit but Wade’s tired.

He’s so _fucking_ tired.

The silence stretches tight between them, only the staggered beat of their breathing. The splintered gleam in Cable’s eyes slowly dims, fading slow until he’s staring down at Wade, a curl of silver hair flopping forward as he bows his head, squeezes his eyes shut. His fingers gleam, still locked tight as a handcuff around Wade’s wrist, and he licks his lips, roughs out, “Go shower, Wade. You smell like shit.” 

He slowly unclenches his hand, Wade’s skin tingling as blood rushing back in busily to fade the bruises left behind. Turns to slump down onto the side of the bed, drops his head and digs his hands into the meat of his shoulders like he can’t bear to hold his head up another moment, like he’s finally realized he’s never gonna dance again. 

Wade’s fingernails dig into his palms, because _never gonna dance again the way I danced with you,_ neither of them will now, will they? And he probably should shower but he can’t hold himself up another second either and he’s collapsing, curling forward until his forehead collides with Cable and he can’t even brace himself for the inevitable shove away when Cable stiffens, shudders and then– 

Doesn’t pull away. His skin is so warm through the worn cotton of his shirt and he smells like ashes and salt-sweat when Wade sucks in a breath. Holds it in his lungs until the room starts to spin and his chest hurts, his chest _hurts,_ and he gasps out a breath but that doesn’t make it stop, it aches on and on and on and fuck why won’t it _stop_.

Wade grinds his forehead into Cable, because surely that will get him shoved off the side of the bed and then he can make a melodramatic flounce back out the window, make the world go dark for a few blessed seconds in _style._ But that contrary son of a bitch never ever does what Wade’s expecting him to, has to go and reach a hand back and cup Wade’s skull, holds him still. 

There’s a joke on the tip of Wade’s tongue, something vague about _waiting for the third date_ or _gotta show me the money before the pants come off_ but it catches there, behind his teeth. 

The metal of Cable’s fingers digs into the divots of Wade’s pitted wasteof a scalp, not pulling him in, not pushing him away. Just holding him there, still.

 

 


End file.
